would i were beside her
by Lucky Dice Kirby
Summary: There's always a silver lining, somewhere. Really. C'mon, look harder. ‹topher&claire›‹spoilers through 1.12›‹written for doll ficathon @ lj›


She's chewing gum, mint. It's her last stick, Topher knows, because she promised Jennifer a piece, which she only ever does if she knows there won't be any left. "Hey, Topher," Christine says, dropping down beside him and letting her books fall unceremoniously onto the desk.

"Hello," he says, grinning. She grins back at him, all green braces and dancing eyes and smooth brown hair framing her face.

"So we're still on for the marathon gaming session after school?" she asks, her expression bright.

"Duh," he says, "Like I would miss unmercifully beating you into a tiny, powdery pulp at every single game I own. This will be _epic_."

"I wouldn't get to cocky if I were you," she replies. "Well, I would, of course, cause I'd be you, and you're an arrogant brat, but! That's missing the point. The point is that I'm going to own you, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it."

Topher smiles. Playing video games for five hours straight is the best remedy for having to sit through seven hours of droning, monotonous voices. Maybe it wouldn't suck so much if some of the teachers actually knew anything, but Topher's willing to settle for video games with Christine, if he can't have that.

xxx

During high school, when he's consistently pulling all-nighters to work on his latest project, whatever that happens to be at the time, she's always willing to stay on the phone with him, talk about her day, about the stupidly clichéd sci-fi flick she's watching, about anything at all. Hearing Christine list off every flaw or break in logic in whatever she's watching is much more calming than he would ever have imagined. It's good to hear her voice, to hear something other than the cogs turning in his brain. He sometimes worries that if all he ever thinks about are calculations or numbers, someday he'll just get swept away by all of them, like a piece of driftwood in the ocean.

Topher tells this to Christine, at about four in the morning one night; he's fiddling with a circuit board and has the phone cradled between his head and shoulder.

"Metaphors," she says, "are a fine art. An art which must be carefully thought through, idiot, you realize that you find driftwood on the beach. As in, on the shore. As in, not in some roiling waters somewhere."

"You _say_ that, but how do you know there aren't millions of pieces of driftwood, all over the ocean? They could be everywhere! And we would _never know._. Anyway, how do you think they end up on the shore, anyway, huh? I don't think they just magically float down from the sky."

"Hey," says Christine, flopping down onto her bed, "You never know."

xxx

He tells her everything. It's just the way things are. He has all this stuff built up in his head, doesn't everybody? And it's all gotta go somewhere, even the stuff that is by far less than brilliant. And Christine doesn't mind listening, as long as he doesn't mind her telling him he's an idiot. It makes for fantastic arguments. It's a great system, really.

Having another person know so much about him is a little bit unnerving for Topher, a little bit off-putting, when he takes a moment to think about it. But hey, she's Christine, so it's not really a problem. And it's not as if he doesn't know just as much about her, in turn. Her head is just as full of useless thoughts as his.

xxx

The letter comes printed on nice paper, apparently from the desk of someone named Adelle DeWitt. Topher reads it through, along with the neat, polished brochure that comes with it. It falls somewhere between an invitation and a job offer. He almost expects to see a "Please RSVP by…" somewhere.

The Dollhouse, huh. The brochure glosses over most of the gritty details, making it all sound just hunky-dory, but Topher can read between to lines. They take people and wipe away their minds, turn them into whatever will sell. It's a good idea, too. Just reading about it, his hands start itching to get his hands on the technology, to see how it works, to take it apart and scrutinize ever little bit of it.

These people are lucky Topher isn't a particularly nice person, all things considered, or else he might do what a good, conscientious citizen would, and turn them into the police. Or maybe they're not just lucky. These people seem to really know their stuff, Topher thinks, so hey, maybe they already knew. And maybe any report to the police would be accidentally lost before it could go anywhere.

Christine practically starts bouncing off the walls and shouting when he tells her. This is slightly problematic, since they're in the library, "Really?" she whispers, after a couple of glares from nearby students. "That's so cool, Topher! And who needs college, anyway? What have two years of it done for you?"

Topher has to agree, college hasn't been the most exciting thing. Not quite what he was expecting. But he's got a few research projects coming up, and it would be a shame to leave them now. Doesn't look like this Dollhouse place is going anywhere. He'll tell them to put the offer on hold. He's got a life to live before he sells his soul. And apparently he's important enough for people to send job offers to _him_, so why shouldn't he keep his options open? There's a lot of interesting research going on in the world.

xxx

"You are the best and brightest in your field, Mr. Brink," DeWitt tells him. "We needed to ensure your cooperation, at the present and in the future."

"That's your explanation for why you kidnapped me and my best friend," Topher says, voice flat. "Great. That makes me feel so much better, actually, have you got any fields of flowers around? I am just so in the mood for a good frolic at the moment."

DeWitt says nothing.

"So, what now? I was thinking about not coming to work for you, yeah. Thinking about, being the key word here. Words. No felonies needed to be committed, but it's nice to feel so wanted and loved."

"There is also another matter. If you will recall, the letter said clearly that all information pertaining to this establishment was to remain completely private. Your friend was not supposed to be privy to any information other than the fact that you received a very generous job offer."

Topher weighs the pros and cons of asking how in the world this woman knows that he told Christine anything more than that about the Dollhouse. He finally decides against it, because he really doesn't actually want to know. This place doesn't need any more creepifying in his mind.

"We needed to make sure you could be trusted, and it seemed that this would be a fine method of persuasion."

"I think that in layman's terms, you mean blackmail."

"If you like."

"Alright, I can play that game. What, is this like holding someone for ransom, except without money?"

"I assure you, Mr. Brink, I have both of your best intentions at heart. Your friend is within our care. A contract has been drawn up, requiring her services for seven years. You will do the same, as one of our technicians. This way, you can ensure her safety, and we can ensure that you will not leave our employment. Ah, and another clause of the contract: You will never breathe a word of what we do here to a single soul, or I will consider the whole contract void, and your friend shall be sent to the Attic."

"Sounds like fun. You know, I hear slavery isn't actually all that popular these days? Crazy, I know."

"Of course not. You seem to have misunderstood. This contract will be signed by both of you, of your own free will. You may walk away at any time you like."

"Does she have the same privilege, since you found it in your oh-so generous heart to give me that option?"

"Actions have consequences, Christopher."

"Please, call me Mr. Brink. And hey, seven years, really? On the brochure I got it said something about standard five-year contracts."

"This case is not standard. We would like to have your employment for long that five years. Longer than seven, but I'm sure by that time you won't feel the need to find other employment."

"I'm sure."

xxx

Topher's friends and family are told he is working on a research project for the Rossum Corporation, with Christine working as his assistant. His mother calls him, her voice full of excitement, asking him why in the world didn't he just _say_ that's what he was going to L.A. for? He could have at least told someone he was leaving, he caused such a fuss with the sudden departure.

Topher tells her he hadn't wanted to say anything until it was finalized, and that he and Christine had been keeping it between the two of them for a while. He sounds just as jubilant as his mother, and he does it well enough that she believes him. Topher's just glad she didn't come to see him in person; he doesn't think he's up for faking a smile yet.

xxx

The norm is for each Doll's original self to have two wedges. A little prudence has never hurt anyone, and as DeWitt reminded him, these are people's whole selves they're talking about. Topher wonders if she can really care that much. But it is her job to keep them safe, to fulfill their contracts, and DeWitt is nothing if not intent on performing her duties to the fullest.

He keeps an extra copy of Christine's wedge, sneaks it back to his apartment and hides it in a locked drawer. When it occurs to him, he makes a fourth one and stashes it in the bottom of his emergency duffel bag. Yes, he is paranoid, and no, he doesn't really care. It's not entirely impossible that a situation might arise where he would need to get out, and get out fast, considering where he works. If that happens, he wants Christine to be with him.

xxx

It's hard, watching her like this. Seeing her as a mindless shell, the most prominent thoughts in her head about how nice yoga is or when her next treatment will be. Or being her best. Topher wonders how that little quirk got into the programming; he certainly didn't put it there, not purposely, anyway. It sometimes scares him how little he actually knows about this technology, how out of control it could get someday, if he isn't careful. He tries not to dwell on it too much.

She asks him if she should go now, and Topher wants to say _No, you should stay here, I'll give you another treatment._ She could be back to normal so easily. It wouldn't work, of course. She probably wouldn't even make it out of the building, and there's also the ID chip to account for. And in truth, Topher is a coward, and what might happen if he tried to pull something like that isn't something he really wants to think about, because it would probably heavily involve the Attic. For him and maybe for her, too.

Being her best friend, and all, he should probably be more preoccupied with saving her, but he's more preoccupied with keeping her the hell away from the Attic. The thought of her there makes him feel like he's drowning on air, like he's choking on nothing but his own fear. That's best-friendish enough for him.

And hey, he gets to see her once a year, anyway. And what a great birthday present that is, getting to see his best friend again for a day and then having her ripped away from him again the next. Thanks a lot, DeWitt, how thoughtful.

The laser tag is still nice.

xxx

Topher wonders if DeWitt thinks he is a better person than he really is. She probably thinks that he was refusing the job out of some sort of moral outrage. And it wasn't that at all, he thought the job sounded awesome. They could have just told him that it was now or never (or, more accurately, now or _now_).

Sure, Christine knew about it. She could have just been his assistant. They didn't have to make her a Doll for knowing. They didn't have to make it his fault for telling her.

He thinks DeWitt might fancy herself some sort of, what, wise woman, some sort of Yoda, teaching people lessons by making their lives hell. It sure as fuck isn't working on him. Topher never considered himself to have the best code of ethics, but he thinks they're getting worse every day he works here. The scary part is that he doesn't find himself minding.

xxx

He's so scared when Alpha slices up her face, so, so scared. He knows what they do to Actives that aren't useful to them anymore.

For a moment all he feels is a rush of relief, when they tell him they're putting her on permanent assignment in the Dollhouse. Later, he's kind of upset. She's going to be scarred forever, can't they just call it quits and be done? "You already went and had her get all cut upified," he says, voice shaking just a little. "What, that not enough for you?"

"The terms of her contract have still not been fulfilled, Mr. Brink," DeWitt says in her cool, clipped voice. "Her contract was for seven years. Of those, she has served only two. Need I remind you she has been one of our most profitable Actives in that time?"

"Don't you guys have some sort of amnesty clause? Work-related injuries, anything?"

"Nothing of that sort was stipulated in the contract. While the incident with Alpha was…unfortunate, as are the resulting circumstances, there really is nothing that can be done. And the Dollhouse is now in desperate need of another physician. I trust that you will have the imprint ready for me in no less than an hour?"

"Don't see what you need a doctor for so fast, it's not as if there're many people left who could get any help from one, on account of half your staff being _dead_. I don't think I have any personalities on file for zombie doctors."

"You are dismissed, Mr. Brink," Adelle tells him. As he gets up to leave, Topher sees something different in her eyes. It looks a little like grief.

xxx

The imprint's not all that hard to make, as far as rush jobs go. A good chunk is the real Dr. Saunders, mixed in with a few other doctors, and a couple other bits and pieces here and there to fill in the blanks. Somebody nice, he thinks, that's what this place needs. Someone empathetic. And he sure isn't going to be fulfilling that role, so he might as well let the good doctor do it.

The memory he gives her is done pretty quickly. No time to bother with making it interesting, a cliché will do for now. Oh, I always wanted to be a doctor, I wanted to _help_ people, my childhood friend died of this or that, blah blah blah. Admittedly, naming said childhood friend Chris is a little self-indulgent. It'll do, and he can always change it later if it becomes a problem. He adds in memories of the Dollhouse, of Alpha hurting her, last.

He thinks about making her like him, about making her drawn to him, about making her have liked him since the first time she met him. He could use a friend here, couldn't he? And it'd be almost like it used to be. The two of them, together.

It's a stupid idea. Hanging out with the body of your best friend, if the mind isn't there to go with it, isn't exactly an enjoyable experience. He makes her hate him instead. The less he sees of her, the better, and maybe the contract will be up before he knows it.

xxx

Claire thinks that Topher is a little strange, frankly. Like a mad scientist, sort of, but she thinks that they're supposed to be endearing, and Topher is anything but. Obnoxious, maybe.

He's never quite sat right with her, ever since their first meeting. She remembers it clearly, he had been up in his lab, fiddling with something or other on the equipment. Right after she'd started working there, before she got a chance to get someone to show her around. She was just wandering, and she ended up in the imprint room.

"You the new doctor?" Topher had asked.

"Yes. I take it you're the head lab techician? Christopher, right?"

"Yup, that's me. They call me Topher, though. I get the lovely job of filling all their little heads with little fantasies about their lives, and then at the end of the day I get to take it all back again. Fun."

The rest of the memory is fuzzy and hard to understand, but she knows that her first impression of him was, _Doesn't he care at all about these people?_

Later, she had asked him that. It was after Alpha had gone rogue, after she had gotten her scars. "Don't you care at all what happens to them? They're people, don't you get it? They're real, you can't just treat them like animals to be herded around."

"No, they're not, and actually, yes I can. It's my job, in fact, so if you would kindly please leave me to it."

Claire remembers wondering why he had to be so damn cold about it.

xxx

She knows who she is. She _knows_.

xxx

For a man she doesn't really like, well, at all, Claire knows an awful lot about Topher. His old childhood nickname, for example. It was Robin, short for Christopher Robin, though mostly people would assume it was after Batman's sidekick, and he would never make any effort to enlighten them. Because who has a nickname from something like Winnie-the-Pooh, even if he did get it when he was five? And she could name his favorite food right off the top of her head. Scrambled eggs with rice and ketchup. Maybe she's wrong about that, but she doesn't think her subconscious could make that up. Probably something faulty in her wiring.

And there's that, too. She doesn't have all that great skill with computers, really. Enough to get into Topher's system, yes, but not enough to crack it. There were a gazillion passwords (just how paranoid _is_ he?), and she guessed them all with ease. There's something more to the story, there's no reason she should have known those things unless he put them in her mind. She can't imagine why he would bother.

xxx

"So," says Claire.

"Yes?" Topher asks, not really looking at her. He's staring intently at his computer screen, and his fingers are moving on the keyboard, but she's not sure he's actually typing anything other than gibberish.

"I'm confused. You make me hate you, but I know enough about you to guess all your passwords within three tries? Your very large collection of passwords? You seem like you'd be more careful than that." Her tone is icy.

His head whips around immediately to stare at her. "You guessed my passwords?" he asks. He starts pacing, running his hands through his hair distractedly. "How did you-- I thought Alpha had weakened the protection somehow, messed with the system, I thought that's how you got in, you shouldn't have-- oh."

"As helpful as that is, Topher, an explanation in plain English would be nice," she says.

"It's not-- it's not part of your, um, programming. It's not you. It shouldn't be there, and I think that. The real you. It's the real you that knows enough to guess those passwords."

She glares at him. "This is the real me."

"No matter how many times you say that, it isn't going to make it true, Claire." He steps towards her.

"Call me Dr. Saunders, please."

"That's not your name."

"Of course it is. You gave it to me, you should know it better than anyone."

He looks away from her. "I--"

"I don't want to hear it," she tells him, and makes to walk out of the room. Topher grabs her arm to stop her.

"Don't," he says. "You're the one who wanted to know how you knew all that, don't get all mad at me for just telling you the truth. What, would you rather I tell you a lie, as long as it was an explanation you were comfortable with?"

"I was just curious."

"Yeah, well." He laughs a little. Not a happy laugh, it's too brittle for that. "You did hear about the unfortunate death of the cat, didn't you? Very tragic. I heard the funeral was touching." Ignoring him, she leaves.

xxx

"Topher," Boyd says.

Topher keeps working on his imprint.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Topher tells him.

"Claire's been acting strangely."

"Has she? Wonderful to know. Not really any of my business, since she, you know, hates my guts and all."

"Topher, why doesn't she ever leave?"

"She's scarred. And I'm not just talking about the ones on her face."

"She doesn't have any friends, any family?"

Topher looks up at the ceiling. "Do we have to have this discussion? If you're getting at what I think you're getting at, this is only going to end in some sort of lecture on ethics that I really don't want to hear."

"You never thought to tell me she was a Doll?" Boyd asks him.

"Boss lady didn't want it to get around. Only people who worked here before Alpha's composite event know, because they remember her as a Doll. And they remember the real Dr. Saunders."

"I still would have appreciated you telling me."

"I'm scared shitless of DeWitt, Boyd, I'm not going to try and cross her on purpose out of some squishy sense of friendship," Topher says, his tone biting. "She could take my whole life away. She already did, and she could make sure I'd never ever get it back. Sorry if that transcends my deep and undying affection for you, man-friend."

Boyd looks a little taken aback. "But when you thought I was the spy, why did you tell me to get out? If you're so scared of DeWitt."

"Because it would have been obvious to tell you about Dr. Saunders. You probably would have gone and told her, because you're such a good Samaritan, and your moral compass actually points somewhere vaguely upwards."

"And me leaving would have been completely inconspicuous," Boyd says dryly.

Topher sighs. "You're right. I wasn't thinking straight. I guess I sympathized with you, I could understand wanting to spy on this place. And I'm sorry for not telling you about Dr. Saunders, I guess, but--"

"When it comes to her, you're more cautious. I get it."

"Huh?"

"I was talking to Ballard, you know, about why he was willing to work for the Dollhouse. What I said to him, I guess it must be true for you too."

"Really," Topher says sardonically, "Please, feel free to enlighten me with your wisdom."

"There's always a girl."

Topher sighs, and stops what he's doing to look at Boyd. "You're going to have to tell me your story someday. Preferably before the curiosity eats me away."

"Sure. Right after you tell me yours."

Topher laughs, and goes back to his imprint.

xxx

She could break him, she knows. Claire can think of just the right words to say, the ones that would cut straight to his heart and make him wish he were dead. She could make him miserable, completely ruin his life, and it wouldn't even take that much work.

She could. And she probably should, shouldn't she? She should want revenge, want to get back at him for what he did (is doing) to her. It's perfectly reasonable.

That's not who she is, though, is it? She's nice Dr. Saunders, who might dislike and only barely tolerate one of her coworkers, but would never try to intentionally hurt him. If that's who she is, then she can't do that to him.

To be honest, she doesn't even really want to, even though she _should_. It's not always clear to her quite why she hates him. Yes, it's for lying to her, for turning her into a Doll, but it's his job, and everyone else in this building lied about it to her, too. And yes, part of it is because of how disgusted she was by his callous attitude on their first meeting. Which, she realizes, probably didn't ever actually happen. How long has she been Dr. Saunders, anyway?

She decides she should probably find out.

"Topher," Claire calls, leaning in the door of the imprint room.

"Yes?" Topher asks, typing something into the computer and turning to face her. "What do you want, to lecture me more about what a horrible excuse for a human being I am? I already have Boyd, and I've filled my quota of moral judgment for the day."

"How old am I?" she asks, simply.

"How old do you think? I'm not going to fake what you think your age is, I have better things to do."

"That's not what I meant, and you damn well know it."

Topher sighs and rubs at his eyes. "Can we continue this conversation some other time?"

"And by 'some other time' I assume you mean never, you always do. In which case, the answer is no."

Topher shifts uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice rushed.

"For what, not bothering to tell me anything, even when I ask?"

"For the time I said I'd help you with your book report some other time, and I never did it because I was so absorbed in another project and you got a C on it. Sorry." Topher's eyes are red, Claire can tell. It looks like he's been crying. Maybe he's not such a heartless bastard. 'Maybe' being the operative word, but it's something.

"I'm not her," Claire says, "I'm not whoever you wish I was. Okay?"

"You could be. If you wanted," Topher offers.

"I don't. That's what you keep forgetting, Topher, I don't want to be anyone else."

"You will be, eventually."

Claire crosses her arms. "You mean when my contract runs out."

"Yeah."

"I'll sign up for another one."

Topher snorts. "Yeah, sure you will. You never signed up for the one you're on right now, I don't think you'll be opting in for another round."

"I thought all the contracts were voluntary. You have to sign it, anyway. I must have had a reason."

"Your reason was you didn't have a choice. Boss-lady can be _very_ persuasive if she wants to be."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, I fucked up and told you too much and to make sure I was a good little boy and never did it again, they effectively kidnapped the both of us," Topher bites out. "They turned you into a Doll and told me that if left or if I let anyone know what it is that I actually do here, they'd send you to the Attic. It's my fault. All of it."

Claire is silent for a moment. "They went to all that trouble?" she asks, finally.

Topher sighs, and closes his eyes. "I guess I'm just that good, huh," he says, but there's not trace of humor in his voice.

"At least they seem to think so."

"It seems they do. Two, by the way."

"Huh?"

"You're two years old. Technically. You're on a seven-year contract, three years left, two of them served before you were Dr. Saunders."

"Seven years?" Claire's brow furrows. "I thought all the contracts were for five years."

"Not all, apparently. Maybe boss-lady got bored."

"Or maybe she got philosophical. Lucky seven."

Topher snorts. "Yeah. That turned out real great. Oh, and never tell DeWitt I told you any of that or we're both as good as dead."

Claire shifts uncomfortably. "I'm pretty sure they have cameras in here."

"They have cameras _everywhere_, and I'm paranoid, remember? There're no microphones, and we're facing the wrong way for them to read our lips. I doubt the picture quality is good enough for that, anyway."

"Oh," is all she says before the room falls silent again. It wasn't his fault, then, the lying to her, if he's telling the truth. And she doesn't think he's lying now. It's kind of silly, but she thinks she would be able to tell. Maybe she wrong about that; she doesn't really know. But all in all, she doesn't think she could hate Topher any more than he already hates himself.

And then it clicks. Two years ago. Alpha.

She touches her face lightly, running her fingers down the scars. "Oh, of course. That should have been obvious, shouldn't it?"

Topher rubs the back of his neck. "Kind of, yeah. Actually, more than kind of."

"Sorry. My head gets a little fuzzy, when I think about things like that."

"Yeah. Self-awareness isn't good for you, in this case."

"I was just thinking-- I was wondering when it was we actually first met, since the memory I have of it is fake." Claire sees Topher flinch at that. "Why _did_ you make me hate you?"

"It was just easier that way," Topher says. "Not having to see you, I mean."

Claire thinks for a moment. "When did we really first meet, then?"

"A really long time ago? I think we were seven," Topher says.

"I meant _me_."

"Oh." Topher has the grace to look at least a little sheepish. "Um, I think you were comforting Echo. I said something to her, you were there. I'd just finished your, um, imprint. A rush job. We kind of needed a doctor."

She remembers doing that. Echo had been so confused. She hadn't been able to understand what had happened.

And then Claire thinks that that memory wasn't really so long ago. Only two years. And she's got three years left, he said. Until the contract runs out, and how does she know what will happen after that? Topher is probably right, there probably won't be another one. She doesn't know who she really-- who she _used_ to be, she doesn't know, she doesn't ever want to know that. Because she's herself, and the thought of being anyone else is awful. And she isn't going to have another contract. This is it.

That's when she starts to cry. Sobbing, really. Everything hits her at once, all the things she's been trying not to think too closely about. She sits down in Topher's desk chair and puts her face in her hands and thinks, _I'm going to die._

"Chri-- Claire," Topher says. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" His voice sounds so concerned. The question is, who is he concerned about? Before, she didn't have a real reason to hate him. She does now. How can you not hate someone who's going to murder you, and doesn't even bother to hide it?

"No, you bastard, I'm not _okay_," Claire says, "You just told me I have three years to live, right after you offered to kill me sooner?"

"It wouldn't be killing you--"

"Yes, it would! I know who I am, Topher, and the minute you return this Active's original personality, that person is dead. Just like those imprints you give the Dolls for one night, or one weekend, or one month. Gone. I'm going to die and no one will even mourn for me. You'll probably celebrate," Claire says, tears running down her cheeks. And now she's done it, those were the right things to say, he's hurt. His face looks like she just ran over his pet dog, and then pointed at him and laughed. The hate he had programmed into her was gone, but it didn't matter. She can't forgive him for this.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks in a small voice. "If I could have my way you would never have lived at all. I'm sorry, but I can't change that!"

Claire gets up and starts to leave; Topher grabs her arm again. "You are not going to do the running away thing again," he says. "You can't blame me for this."

"Yes, I can."

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't exist!"

"Wouldn't that be a good thing? You wouldn't have to look at me and wish I were someone else, then."

Topher doesn't have an answer to that, because she's right, so he cups her cheek in his hand and says, "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," and she doesn't think the words are meant for her. He hugs her and holds her close and she lets him, because she's poor, pitiable Dr. Claire Saunders, who has scars on her face and needs comfort and love and all manner of things that Topher would give her, if only she were someone else.

xxx

Topher knows that Dr. Saunders is going to die and he's going to let her, he's going to be the one to kill her, and because he's a selfish asshole who'd rather have the friend he loved than the doctor he barely knows, he doesn't really care. He misses Christine. He'll miss Dr. Saunders, but it won't be on nearly the same level. Dewitt will probably still let him have his birthday present, and that's good enough for him. Probably not good enough for _her_, but it's better than nothing, isn't it?

Topher wishes he believed in God, because then maybe he'd have someone else to hate for all this.


End file.
